


what are you doing new year’s eve

by bettycooopers



Series: twelve days of barchie [12]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Holidate AU, betty cooper is a bitch and i love her so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: “You don’t have to be my date for every holiday, you know. I could’ve had a date tonight," she says.Archie laughs and nearly spills his wine on her couch. Betty frowns. “Why not,” he chuckles, raising his brow, shrugging. “Having a holidate could be fun.”
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Series: twelve days of barchie [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066289
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	what are you doing new year’s eve

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
>   
> thank you for following along the past 12 days, see y'all soon! 

Polly gets engaged on Christmas Eve. 

Betty has her face pointed down into her wine glass, her eyebrows raised as Polly and Alice both cry. Polly pulls her newly minted fiancée, Greg, up off the ground and kisses him while Juniper and Dagwood ignore the entire scene, instead hovering around the Christmas tree and pointing out gifts with their names printed on the tags.

“Congratulations,” she nods, when Polly shoves her ring finger directly under Betty’s nose. She smiles politely, looking over at Greg, then back at Polly. “I’m so excited for you guys!” It sounds fake to her ears, but Polly doesn’t seem to notice – and if she does, she doesn’t care.

Alice slips behind her as she’s refilling her wine glass, mumbling, “Be nice, Elizabeth,” into her ear, and Betty rolls her eyes. 

“I _am_ nice, Mom,” she frowns, setting the wine bottle down before deciding to pour a bit more – whatever, she’s going to finish the bottle tonight, it’s _Christmas._

“Be nicer,” Alice sighs, shaking her head. “Just because you don’t have someone of your own to spend the holidays with, doesn’t mean you have to be sour grapes about your sister’s happiness.” 

Betty frowns, raising her glass to her lips and turning around to glare at Alice. “I’m not _jealous,_ Mom. Polly’s just,” she waves her hand, shrugging. “I’m happy for her.”

Alice presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. “Try practicing that one before you say it to your sister, alright?”

Betty stays quiet for the rest of the night, giving her best polite smiles as the red wine numbs her senses, and the Christmas lights give her something to focus on. Polly, Greg, and the kids head home a little after ten, and Betty heads up to her room shortly thereafter, ignoring Alice’s ongoing lecture about _having someone nice to spend the holidays with._

It’s not that she _couldn’t_ have someone to spend the holidays with – it’s that she doesn’t _want_ to, right now. She’s busy, she’s unsettled, and she’d rather just be on her own right now – she doesn’t even need a _reason,_ but if she did, that would be enough. She knows her mother doesn’t care to try to understand any of that, so she doesn’t bother trying to explain...but she knows, logically, the explanation isn’t unfounded or off. It’s just not what Alice Cooper wants to hear.

Betty’s lying on her side, staring at her nearly empty wine glass when she sees Archie’s bedroom light flick on and his heavy bag go flying. She frowns, watching his shadow move across the room, the heavy bag swinging wildly. He’s supposed to be at some girl’s house for Christmas, so she’s a little confused as to why he’s _home,_ now.

She sits up, finishing her glass of wine and setting it down on her nightstand, then looking down at her bare feet. She chews on the inside of her cheek, feeling herself stand up and tugging on her boots, knowing she’s heading over to the Andrews house before she even finishes putting on her shoes. 

She unlocks the side door with the key the Andrews have always kept hidden under an assortment of decorative rocks Fred had bought when they were in middle school. “Arch?” She calls from the kitchen, prying open the fridge and grabbing two beers. “What are you doing home?”

She hears Archie moving around upstairs and rolls her eyes, uncapping the beer for herself and taking a long pull as she moves into the main hallway, craning her head up and around the banister, “Arch,” she yells, “I have beer!” She hears him pause as she makes her way back into the kitchen. He starts to move down the stairs, and she listens as they creak under his feet. 

“You brought beer?” He’s running a hand through his wet hair and isn’t wearing a shirt. He must have literally stepped into and out of the shower while she was on her way over. Betty furrows her brow as she lets her eyes fall over his chest. It’s Christmas, okay? She deserves it. 

“No, from your fridge,” she hands him the other beer and watches him uncap it, then take a long sip. “I thought you were spending Christmas with what’s-her-name.”

“So did I,” he says around the lip of the bottle. “I...it was bad,” he shakes his head, “her parents bought us matching sweaters.” Betty stares at him, eyes wide. “I...kind of told her we should see other people. In front of them.”

 _“Archie,”_ Betty laughs, feeling her cheeks getting hot from the wine and the idea of her best friend dumping a girl in front of her family. She reaches over and shoves at his bare shoulder. “That’s so mean.”

“What was I supposed to do? I told her I wanted to keep it casual. It’s only been five weeks,” he shakes his head and Betty slips into one of the seats at the kitchen island. “No one thinks I’m serious when I say that.”

Betty nods. “Polly got engaged,” she offers, and Archie raises his brows. “Keep Greg in your thoughts and prayers,” she mutters, and Archie nearly chokes on a sip of his beer.

“Alice must’ve been over the moon,” he mumbles, and Betty rolls her eyes over-exaggeratedly. “Come on, it’s a nice thing.”

“It’s another reason for her to poke at me,” Betty sighs, shaking her head. “She’s already on one about me _finding someone nice_ all the time. It’s annoying. Next thing I know, she’s going to be pestering me about who I’m kissing at midnight at that New Year’s party my old roommate invited me to.”

Archie sighs, but nods. She’s thankful he’s real with her about how Alice can be, instead of trying to push her into thinking she’s _fine,_ or something. “I’ll be your date for New Year’s,” Archie offers, after a long few moments. “That way we’ll both have someone to be with, no pressure.”

Betty surveys him, pursing her lips. “You’re going to give up a random New Year’s one night stand for _me?_ ” She laughs as he frowns at her. “You don’t have to do that, Arch. I’ll just lie to her.”

“No, come on,” he stands up a little straighter, leveling her with a stare. “It makes sense. You need a date to get Alice off your back, I need a date so I’m not getting saddled with a clinger,” he shrugs, “it works out. Besides,” he points at her with his beer bottle, “I have more fun with you than I do with most people.”

Betty smiles at him warmly, rolling her eyes. “You just want to go out,” she ribs, but taps the neck of her bottle against his and nods. “But fine, you can be my date.”

“Wow,” Archie deadpans, but she can see the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth, “an honor, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t seen my dress, Arch,” she smirks, tipping her head back to finish the contents of her drink.

–

Archie’s buzzed when he gets to Betty’s on New Year’s Eve. 

She grins at him as she opens the door to her apartment, laughing when his eyes widen and travel up and down her body slowly. “Jesus,” she laughs, shoving at his shoulder, “save some for everyone else.”

“You’re my date,” he shrugs, “I should be allowed to check you out, shouldn’t I?”

Betty rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything. She’ll give him this much, the dress is out of the ordinary for her – it’s a tight velvet dress that hugs her curves and hits right below the knee, the color shifting in the light so sometimes it’s light blue, sometimes it’s purple. Archie’s fingers find the slit in the fabric on her left side quickly, his hand brushing over her thigh. “Archie,” she laughs, pressing her hand over his and narrowing her eyes at him playfully. Archie’s handsy when he’s buzzed – Betty’s always been fine with it, because _she_ is handsy when she’s buzzed, too, and...whatever. They’re best friends, it’s not like it matters.

“You look hot,” he mumbles against her ear as they head down the elevator.

“I know,” Betty grins up at him, and he rolls his eyes at her. “You don’t look so bad, either.”

“Gee,” he chuckles, frowning, “thanks, Betts.”

The party is tamer than she imagined it would be – for all the hype she’s heard about Manhattan on New Year’s, it’s pretty much just another night out, just with a louder and more talkative DJ. She and Archie settle in a booth with drinks, and he pulls her into him, his arm draped over her shoulders. “Did I tell you that you look hot?”

“About a dozen times,” she yells into his ear, laughing. “What did you drink before you came over?” Archie gives her a lopsided grin and shrugs his shoulder, which makes her laugh harder. “You’re a doofus, you know that?”

He ignores her. “This party,” he looks around, his brow furrowed, “is something.”

Betty sips her drink and thinks, then pinches the skin on his wrist. “I’ve never complained about inviting myself to a New Year’s party with my best friend, who looks hot tonight,” she raises her eyebrows, lifting her glass and laughing as realization flashes in his eyes. He takes a slow sip of his drink, clearly thinking as he drinks.

“That was mean,” he tips his head back in thought, then chuckles. “I never looked really hot at this New Year’s party,” he lifts his glass to her, smirking, “see? ‘Cause we both have to drink.”

Betty rolls her eyes, poking him in the cheek. “Who said you look hot?”

Archie frowns, using his hand to help her lift her glass to her lips. Betty laughs as she takes a sip, pulling her glass away from his hand and shaking her head. 

They trade stupid I Never’s for what feels like minutes, but it’s close to midnight by the time Betty looks up and realizes they’ve been at this for hours. She should be surprised, but time usually flies when she’s talking to Archie – that’s not a new development, they’ve been at it since they were four – so instead of pointing it out, she reaches around to the back of his head and scratches her nails against his scalp. “Dance with me once before midnight, hmm?”

She’s sufficiently drunk and Archie’s not far behind her, which she can tell more than ever when he squeezes her knee and then pulls her up by both hands, yanking her towards the dancefloor. “Thought you’d never ask, Cooper,” he mumbles, a laugh in his throat. Archie doesn’t dance much, so she laughs and rolls her eyes, but allows him to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close as the DJ announces it’s just three minutes to midnight.

They dance close, and Betty barely hears the countdown begin – but by the time it’s at two, Archie’s lips are sloppily on her cheek, and he’s squeezing her tightly. “Happy New Year, Betts,” he mumbles, as noise blares around them.

She thinks she’s never really had a better New Year’s kiss.

–

On Valentine’s Day, Archie’s waiting on her couch with wine when she gets home from work. 

“What, do you live here now?” Betty frowns, but she laughs as he holds up her spare key and then points to the full wine glass on her coffee table.

“I brought gifts,” he says, sipping from his own glass, his feet propped on the arm of her couch. 

“You came all the way here to bring me wine?” She flops onto the couch, settling her feet in his lap. Archie nods. “Why?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he shrugs. Betty sips from her glass and narrows her eyes at him. “I dunno. Figured you’d need a date.”

Betty nods, only understanding a little. She’d mentioned to him that she’d told Alice she’d spent New Year’s with someone, but that had been in passing...so she wasn’t sure if he was talking about keeping up appearances, or something else entirely. “You don’t have to be my date for every holiday, you know. I could’ve had a date tonight.”

Archie laughs and nearly spills his wine on her couch. Betty frowns. “Why not,” he chuckles, raising his brow, shrugging. “Having a holidate could be fun.”

Betty swirls her wine in her glass, cuddling into him on the couch and ignoring his stupid, made up word. “I get to pick the movie,” she mumbles, grabbing the remote off the arm of the couch next to him, “and you don’t get to complain about it.”

“So, like every time we hang out,” he chuckles, but kisses the top of her head, she’s sure to soften it a little.

–

She doesn’t remember much about St. Patrick’s Day, but Archie having red hair has always helped her in getting free drinks.

She’s wearing a _Kiss me, I’m Irish_ shirt that she’d dug up from the back of her closet, something she’s pretty sure her grandmother had purchased roughly a thousand years prior, as a gag gift. The bartender hands her a free green beer and points to it. She smiles to herself and then looks up at Archie. “How’s it feel to be a leprechaun?”

Archie frowns and takes the green beer from her, taking a long sip.

They get considerably drunk before she decides to inform him, “You know St. Patrick’s Day is _barely_ a holiday, right? Hardly a good use of holi _date,_ I’d say.” She can feel her words slurring together, and Archie presses his hands to the side of her face.

“You’re acting like I don’t get _unlimited_ holidates, Betts,” he mumbles, pressing her cheeks together. Betty frowns up at him and pouts out her lower lip.

“What if I start dating someone for real?” Betty hiccups, and Archie furrows his brow at her. She rolls her eyes.

“Why are you trying to ruin my favorite holiday?” He asks, his voice thick with genuine concern. Betty glares at him and snatches his drink out of his hand, taking a long sip of it before she hands it back to him.

They don’t talk about the thought of dating other people, for real or for holidays, again after that.

–

She brings him home for Easter to calm her mother down. 

She’s mentioned to Alice several times that she’s been seeing someone – casually, of course, but the questions have gotten a little overwhelming (it’s mostly, “who is he?”, just repeated in several different iterations) so she calls Archie one night on her walk home from work and tells him the plan. 

Basically, it’s just him coming home with her for Easter lunch. 

“Betts,” he sighs, and she can hear that he’s outside. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

“Because Alice is going to think we’re...you know,” he pauses and Betty lets him be quiet. “Not just holidates.”

“Alice can think whatever Alice wants,” she shrugs. She knows it’s bigger than that – Archie’s been her best friend since they were children, it’s not like a person she’d just start dating out of the blue. She doesn’t think she cares, though – if Alice wants to think they’re truly dating, why not let her? Archie would be better for her than anyone else, she thinks. “Seriously, Arch. It’s just lunch.”

“Lunch with your mom, and Polly, and that _guy,”_ Archie’s smiling, she can hear it.

“Lunch with _me,”_ Betty laughs, then lets out a sigh. “Please?”

He hums in thought, but she can tell he’s already decided. “You drive a hard bargain,” he mutters, “you know this means you’re buying milkshakes, though, right?”

Alice asks them about five thousand questions as they sit around the dining room table, and Betty slips her hand onto Archie’s knee as she fields them on her own, brushing her thumb over his kneecap when Alice levels him with an, “Archibald,” for fun, Betty guesses. 

They’re loading the dishwasher when she feels him rest his hand on her back, brushing his thumb over the curve of her waist. “You alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she laughs, looking over her shoulder at him. He raises his brows. “I’m fine,” she nods. “Thank you...for doing this.”

He kisses the side of her head, then lifts her chin and kisses her lips softly. She tries not to furrow her brow in confusion the way she wants to. “Free milkshake,” he mumbles against her mouth, and she swats at his chest, pushing him away.

–

“You know a lot of Mexican people don’t even celebrate Cinco de Mayo, right?”

“Are you turning down margaritas, Betts?”

She does not turn down margaritas. She also does not turn down tequila shots, nor does she turn down Archie when he lifts her up and sets her on the bar and raises his brow. 

She swallows, leaning back a bit and taking the lime wedge he’s holding out between her teeth. His eyes linger on the bare strip of stomach she’s showing between her top and her jeans, but he settles on her collarbone for the salt, and she tips back further, feeling his breath on her skin. She watches with a pounding in her head as he leans down and licks her skin, picking up the salt on his tongue before downing the shot in his hand. She feels his lips brush hers as he takes the lime out of her mouth, biting down on it. 

She licks her own lips and orders another drink, downing it as quickly as she can so that maybe the throbbing between her legs will subside.

–

Polly’s fiancée’s family has a lake house upstate, which automatically bumps him up on her ranking of family members – she’s pretty sure he even ranks higher than Polly when he invites her (and Archie) to spend Fourth of July weekend with them.

Greg seems to like Archie. They talk about sports, and Archie’s good with the twins. Those seem like the only two criteria that matter to Greg, and Betty gets it. 

She sets her bag on the foot of the bed and laughs as Archie takes a running start, flopping face first onto the mattress. She lays down next to him, tipping her head back into the pillows and then peeking over at him, raising her brows. “Who do you think you’re going to hang out with more this weekend, me, or Greg?” 

Archie doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely Greg,” he nods, poking her in the ribs. 

On the second morning, she changes into her bikini in the bathroom and is rooting through her suitcase for her cover up when Archie walks into the room. She looks up at him and smiles, furrowing a brow as she watches his neck getting red. “Morning,” she laughs, grabbing the cover up out of her bag and standing back up, tugging her hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out. 

“Morning,” he says, and she can feel his eyes on her body. 

He tosses her into the lake that afternoon, his arms tight around her waist, laughing as she sputters in the water and then diving in after her. He wraps both arms around her and pulls her into him as he treads. “You okay?”

She frowns at him, but he looks concerned so she wrinkles her nose at him, making a face. “You’re mean,” she whines, but lets herself sag into him as he swims her to shore.

They’re sitting down on a blanket to watch the fireworks and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her into his side. He kisses the top of her head and she peeks up at him, ignoring the way her heart beats a bit faster at the smell of his salty skin. “You having fun?”

“Always, with you,” he mumbles, and she shuts her eyes, leaning back against him. The fireworks go off and he wraps his arms around her, leaning his chin against the top of her head and humming at all the different colors.

Sometimes, when she’s had a few drinks and he’s got his arm around her, she pretends these holidates are just _dates_.

–

Her air conditioner breaks the Thursday before Labor Day, and she shows up on his doorstep with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

He’s supposed to go to the Hamptons with his friends and she’s supposed to be working from home, but her apartment is roughly 100 degrees and rising, so there’s no way her plan is working out. Her hair is sweaty and stuck to the back of her neck as she stands in his doorway, and he furrows his brow, his linen shirt unbuttoned so she can see his bare chest.

“What’s happening?” He steps aside so she can walk into the room and raises his brow as she flops onto his couch and pushes her hair off her face. “Why are you so sweaty?”

“My AC is broken,” she whines, pouting her lower lip and shutting her eyes, tipping her head back against the cushions of his couch. The cool air rushing around from his air conditioning makes her warm skin prickle. “Can I stay here this weekend?”

“I’m,” he lets out a little laugh, flopping down onto the couch next to her and propping his feet up on the coffee table, “I’m going to the Hamptons, Betts. I mean, you can stay,” he reaches over and squeezes her knee gently, brushing his thumb over her kneecap, “I just...I already paid for the jitney.” 

Betty nods, pulling her knees up onto the couch and turning to face him and pressing her cheek into the cushions. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, raising a brow over at him and chewing on the inside of her cheek, “you should go have fun. I have to work, anyway...I’ll just,” she stretches her arms back against his soft couch, humming softly, “make myself at home.”

Archie sighs and pulls out his phone, and Betty figures it’s settled, lying back on his couch and shutting her eyes. She opens them when he still hasn’t said anything about ten minutes later, and raises her brow at him. “Is that okay? If I stay?”

She watches as Archie puts his phone into his pocket, then turns to look at her. “Is it okay if I stay, too?” She frowns and he laughs. “I’m going to stay home.”

“Arch, come on.” Betty runs her hand through her hair and sits up a bit. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he shrugs and Betty shuts her eyes. “It’s fine. I’d rather hang here with you, anyway. Besides,” she cracks one eye open, squinting at him, “don’t need you snooping through any of my stuff.”

She frowns at him, even though she’d fully been planning to. 

She sleeps next to him in his bed all weekend, wearing his t-shirt and her pajama shorts. Archie’s shirtless, which isn’t anything new, but still worth noting. 

She finds herself sleepily curling into his side to get comfortable, pressing her face into his chest and pretending she’s already sleeping so he won’t say anything. He doesn’t. He just wraps his arm around her and pulls her in closer.

–

He’s supposed to be working on Halloween, so when he shows up at their favorite bar wearing a fireman’s costume, the word _surprised_ doesn’t cut it. 

She’s already drunk and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down and pressing her face close to his. “You look _hot,”_ she laughs, feeling his breath on her neck. “You look _very_ hot, you should keep this costume.”

“I bought it, it’s mine,” he laughs, and she can smell the mint gum he’s been chewing. 

“Good,” she breathes, and keeps her face low so he can’t see how hard she’s blushing. 

He takes her home at the end of the night, helping her up to her apartment and tucking her into bed, setting his plastic firefighter hat on her head. “How you feeling, buddy?”

She sighs, turning on her side and shoving the hat off of her head, placing it on the pillow next to her. “M’fine,” she murmurs, and she feels him moving away. “No, no. Stay,” she hears herself whine, tugging at his shirt and hearing him laugh. He sits down on the side of her bed and she rolls over, pressing her head into his lap. “I sleep better when you’re here,” she mumbles.

“I know,” he says, and she hears him toeing off his shoes. “I sleep better when I’m here, too.”

She opens her eyes and looks up at him, smiling when he looks back down at her. He pushes her hair off her face gently and leaves his fingers in her hair. “What are you thinking about?” She bites on her lower lip, raising her brows up at him. 

He shrugs. “Laying down.” She shifts over to the other side of the bed, patting the spot next to her.

“Lay,” she says, her voice soft. He listens, and she lays her head on his chest. She falls asleep with his fingers in her hair. 

–

He’s not coming home with her for Thanksgiving, and she’s kind of annoyed about it. 

“Your mom’s never around, Arch,” she rolls her eyes as he moves around her kitchen, boiling water for pasta the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. “You’re supposed to spend time with the people you’re thankful for.”

“That is so not what Thanksgiving is about,” he laughs, shaking his head. She’s glad he knows her well enough to know that she thinks the shitty things she says have (at least some) validity to them. 

She listens as he dumps some pasta into the boiling water, frowning. “My mom’s expecting you.”

“Okay,” he sounds annoyed. “So tell her I went to Chicago.”

“She’s going to think we’re having _problems,_ Arch.” 

“So tell her we _are,_ Betts.” She flinches and he lets out a sigh. “Just tell her I wanted you to come with me, but you chose her. That’ll cancel out any bullshit she gives you, alright?”

Betty peeks over at him, chewing on her lower lip. “You want me to go with you?” Archie stares into the boiling water, and Betty sighs. “I could come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Why? I...I’ve asked you. I’ve _demanded_ you come with me...to everything.” Archie shrugs and Betty stands up from her couch, rolling her eyes. She stays quiet for a long few moments. “This whole thing isn’t fair.”

“This whole thing,” he chuckles lowly, shaking his head. “What whole thing?”

“Your _holidate_ thing,” she puts extra emphasis on the word, her voice thick. She doesn’t like the way it sounds in her mouth anymore. “It’s not...you don’t...it’s a thing for _me,_ Arch. _You_ do it for _me._ I don’t do anything for you.”

“Betty,” his back is to her, and he’s not turning around. “Just leave it, okay?”

“Just leave _what,”_ she walks into the kitchen, leaning against her fridge. She sees, up close, how tense his shoulders are. “Talk to me.”

“We’re not _holidates,”_ she can hear the frown he’s wearing. “It’s not…,” he sighs out a breath, turning to her. “We’re dating, Betts. I...maybe not...in the conventional way. But this is _dating.”_

Betty sours, furrowing her brow. “We’re not...you’re not,” she shakes her head. “No, we’re not.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Archie runs his fingers through his hair and Betty watches, her eyes narrowed. “I...we’re not going to have the same opinion, and this isn’t...this isn’t how we should talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” Betty thinks her voice will come out strong, but it’s soft.

“I don’t want to just be your _holidate,”_ he’s got his eyes on her and she won’t look at him. She feels her skin burning. “I think you know that. I think you’ve _known_ that.”

Betty shakes her head. “It’s just a convenience thing. ‘Cause you don’t want anything serious, and I,” she swallows, finally letting herself look up at him. “That’s not what this is, Archie.” She thinks he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. “It’s not. We’re not like that.” She doesn’t know why she’s lying to him.

Archie looks at her for a long few moments before swallowing and then sighing out a breath. He nods, then points to the pasta. “You can finish that, right?” He asks, his voice low. 

“Don’t,” she reaches out to touch his wrist and he pulls his arm away. She sucks in a breath, her eyes wide. “Don’t do this, Arch.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll call you, alright?” He leans down and kisses her cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

She throws the pasta in the trash.

–

Betty’s on her third glass of wine when Greg walks into the kitchen wearing a hideous Christmas sweater. “Where’s Archie?” he asks, and Betty scowls at him. She walks out of the kitchen without answering, and makes her way up to her childhood bedroom, ignoring Alice calling her name from the couch.

Archie’s barely spoken to her since Thanksgiving, even though she’s reached out more than once a week. He’ll text her a word or two, but he won’t answer her calls. She can see him moving around in his childhood bedroom – she’s not sure why he chooses to come back to Riverdale at the exact same time he knows she’ll be here, but he’s been in his room every night for the past few, just avoiding her gaze and hitting his heavy bag.

She’s certain of a few things, after a month away from him. She’s certain he was right, that they weren’t _just_ holidates. She’s certain she’s loved him for longer than she cares to admit, and she’s certain he’s loved her back for at least that long, too. 

Most of all, she’s certain she fucked everything up, hopefully not irreparably. 

She’s not totally sure how she’s going to even attempt to fix it until she sees him in his room on Christmas Eve, heavy bag swinging, sweat soaking through his t-shirt. 

She finishes off her glass of wine and pulls on her boots, making her way down the stairs and out the back door. She crosses their backyards, her heart in her throat as she grabs the spare key from beneath the decorative rocks, unlocking the door and letting herself into the empty kitchen. She flips on the lights and grabs two beers out of the fridge before she calls up the staircase. “Arch,” she yells, “I have beer!”

He’s been moving around and stops, suddenly. “Arch,” she yells again, and her voice sounds thicker. She hears him pause, then start to move down the stairs, listening as they creak under his feet. 

He hovers in the entryway to the kitchen, his brows raised. “What, you just let yourself in?”

She holds up the spare key, then sets it on the counter. “Had to talk to you,” she shrugs. She holds out the beer and raises her brow, smiling softly when he makes his way towards her to grab it. He takes the beer and moves around to the other side of the counter, taking a long sip but keeping his eyes on her.

“About what,” he says, carefully. 

She hadn’t gotten quite this far in her head, but she shuts her eyes a moment and plows ahead. “Christmas,” she says, her voice quiet, “and New Year’s.”

“Christmas and New Year’s,” he repeats, lacking tone. She nods. “What about Christmas and New Year’s?”

“I’m going to need you there,” she looks up at him, her eyes wide. He’s glaring at her and she shakes her head. “I’m going to need you there, as my date.”

“Betty,” he starts, and she holds up her hand. 

“My _date,_ Arch. My real life, actual human date.” He raises a brow. “Not my holidate. My date.”

She hears him let out a breath and she makes her way around the island, pressing her fingers to his wrist gently. “I know I took advantage of it,” she says, her voice quiet. “I know I...maybe you don’t want to _be_ my date, but I think you do...and I know I want you to.”

He stays quiet for a long moment, his eyes on her fingers against his skin. “There are,” he swallows, lifting his gaze to meet hers, “stipulations to this, you know.” She looks up at him, her brow furrowed. “If I’m your date, I’m not anyone else’s.” She blinks up at him, feeling her eyes grow wider. “I’m not anyone else’s, period. I’m just _yours.”_

“Arch,” her voice is strained, and she doesn’t need to say anything else – she just leans up and kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her. His hands find her waist and his tongue slips into her mouth and she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s been doing all this time, _not_ doing this. 

They pull back after a long time, longer than she can really measure, and she presses her forehead to his. “You know I love you, right?” She hears her voice saying it before her brain says it’s okay. He pulls her tighter against him.

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know.” She scratches her nails into the back of his neck lightly. “You sure there’s no what’s-his-name that you want to spend the holiday with?” 

She frowns, shaking her head, brushing her lips against his. She presses her beer bottle against the back of his neck, smirking when he hisses at the cool glass against his skin. “Just you, Arch” she breathes against his mouth, “you’re the only holidate I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> a million billion thanks to my best bud, [becca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), who has patiently edited every single one of these fics and listened to me whine for more hours than i feel comfortable counting. truly do not comprehend how our brain cell works, but i am truly the most thankful for it. 💕
> 
> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


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